


The Poem

by judithyaffa



Series: Winchester Fun [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithyaffa/pseuds/judithyaffa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has written a poem? Huh? What is this world coming to! Lots of brother interplay and fun...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Poem

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a sequel to Winchester Fun: The Bet. The poem actually came to me after writing Betrayed (the second story in the John Winchester Chronicles) and the story came out of the poem. This story gave me the idea for The Bet, which you can currently find on fanfiction.net but which I'll be posting here soon. 
> 
> The Bet: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7429516/1/Winchester_Fun_The_Bet

The green-eyed hunter stood in front of the coffeehouse, fiddling with the microphone. He cleared his throat. He looked a little nervously at the audience. It was a packed house tonight... Who would've thought these poetry readings were so popular?

"Well, you see... Uh, normally I don't write poetry. But my little brother, well, we had this bet..."

He glared into the audience, towards where Sam was sitting.

"He's a pain in the butt..."

A titter ran through the crowd. Sam folded his hands across his chest and glared back. A girl in the front row smiled and said, "So come on already... You going to read or not?"

Dean glanced at the girl. She had long brown hair and soft brown eyes. And lots of freckles. Kind of cute.

"Yeah, Dean, come on!" Sam shouted. He smirked at his brother.

"Okay," he said, "but remember, you asked for it."

"I call this 'Batman'". He glanced at the girl in the audience. She was listening intently and she quirked her eyebrows at him.

" _This lame-ass poetry's not for me,_  
 _but I had to talk._  
 _None of that chick-flick dipshit,_  
 _Just me._ "

There was a strange silence in the room, punctuated by a snort from the girl. _Huh_ ,he thought, _maybe I shouldn't have started this by ragging on poetry._

He continued,

" _Sammy's the one with the silver tongue,_  
 _Of the two of us,_  
 _He's the only one_  
 _who could escape the family business,_  
 _and make his own way._  
 _I doubt it,_  
 _But if anyone could,_  
 _It'd be Sam._ "

The silence had changed. People were leaning forward in their chairs, rapt with attention.

Sam was looking at Dean in surprise.

" _He could've been anything he wanted,_  
 _an actor on tv,_  
 _one of those bozos teaching in a college,_  
 _hell, he could have been a politician..._  
 _well, maybe not._  
 _Me, I could only follow my dad,_  
 _since the day of the fire,_  
 _the day Mom burned._ "

Dean looked at the audience. Sam was sitting with his mouth open. The girl looked a little sad and puzzled.

" _When I had to run with Sam,_  
 _and Dad said 'Take care of your brother,'_  
 _and we sat on the lawn, watching the flames,_  
 _I knew I had to be_  
 _mother and father to Sam,_  
 _partner to Dad,_  
 _Everything but Dean._  
 _Mom wasn't the only thing_  
 _that went up in flames._ "

 _Time to end this shit_ , thought Dean.

" _But I'm not crying._  
 _See, I'm happy_  
 _if I can save_  
 _some other little boy or girl,_  
 _save their futures._

 _This ain't a sob story,_  
 _This is who I am._ "

He stepped back from the mike. "Well, folks, I'm done now."

The clapping started small, but it built up gradually until it filled the room. Sam just sat, looking stunned. Then he started to clap as well.

Dean did a double-take. Were they clapping for him? _Hmm... Maybe this poetry business isn't so bad after all._

There was a smirk on his face when he walked back to Sam's chair. "What do you think? I was awe-inspiring, huh?"

"Well," admitted Sam, "That poem wasn't half bad."

"Maybe I could be the next... I don't know... what's the name of a famous poet?"

"Get over it, Dean," said Sam, chuckling. "I think you should stick to hunting."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

But then Sam just stood there, looking at Dean as if he'd never seen him before. "Man, I never knew you felt that way."

"Well, you never asked me." He wouldn't meet his eyes. "Come on, Sammy, none of that mushy stuff. Let's just get back to the motel."

As they turned to go, the girl with the brown hair stopped him.

"Wait," she said. "I really liked your poem."

"Oh, thanks," he said. He smiled at her flirtatiously. "I'm Dean. My brother and I are in town on family business. Maybe we could go out for coffee some time?"

She smiled back. "I'd like that. I'm Susie." She took out a scrap of paper from her purse and wrote some numbers on it. "Call me."

"Okay. See you around, Susie," Dean called back.

Sam just stood and stared.

"I can't believe it. Only my brother could turn a losing bet into a date."

Dean rubbed his hands together. "Learn from the master."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Come on, bro, let's get out of here."


End file.
